The flirting with his supposed betrothed was thankfully missed. That would have been awkward, not necessarily violent, but certainly awkward. A public showing had to be made and that was the sort of spectacle that he would have almost certainly overdone. It might have involved searching the next three taverns for a proper glove or the recitation of horrible poetry. Or maybe he would have just tried to negotiate a price and then the violence might have begun. It was all a lost opportunity or a avoided disaster or one of those such things.

Instead, trailing behind as they were, Gloria and Glenn made it up the stairs. "No sir. Just Glenn. Some people go with the full Glenn Burnie as if they've smelled something (most likely themself)," this with a nod to Gloria, for he was never one to pass up low hanging fruit when there was so little time. "As for the rest, no, not tea crushed minds, though sometimes dreams and crushed spirits." That was Gloria's problem. She never looked far enough; not far enough back, not far enough forward. "Maybe dear Egris' foot and crushed throats. More likely fire and unpleasant but well-learned superstition. Things that go bump in the night also go bump when hung on the gallows."

He waved all that off though with a friendly smile and a small hand motion. "Where were we?" He looked to Gloria and then Egris and then back to the man, his hand still not yet down from the previous waving. He let it drop, finally, as he spoke on. "Ah yes, hello."

"The war against dreariness seems a fairly tame war, considering the other one that we are fighting," she remarked, her smile almost wistful as she leaned against the wall. She watched him, her eyes turning curious when his own shifted into something like affection.

She seemed about to say something poignant, her expression serious.

The door opened abruptly and she went quiet, distant. Castor ushered the seamstress and former Governor into the room; the door closed behind them as he sought superior company. The two spoke and she let their words wash over her as she nudged the wall behind her to carry her fully upright. She headed for the table, to claim the seat Michta had chosen for her. She let her spoon click against the edges of the cup before swallowing a mouthful.

"Crucia has that friend of ours. Bern. The bounty hunter. She has proposed an even trade," the woman offered, carefully, keeping her eyes focused on the swirling, steaming liquid in her cup. "They want you."

Far be it from he to be inhospitable to his guests. He inclined his head in Gloria's direction with a patient smile, indicating that she should take a seat across from him, at the place setting which had been magically arranged. If there was hesitation on her part, it didn't escape him, but he did his best to tone down the amusement playing across his lips.

"When one contemplates the workings of dark magicks, Miss Gloria, I would be genuinely surprised if porcelain teacups sprang first and foremost into the mind." Unable to help himself, he levitated two cubes of sugar onto the plate next to the seamstresses' designated drink. Nonchalantly, he added: "The demonic pastries I was about to summon from the depths of the underworld might have warranted concern, but you arrived just before I was able to offer up a sacrifice."

He paused, smiling politely, waiting out the beat of silence that followed. "Cream?"

He would have dropped the topic regardless, but Egris chose that time to speak up about the Bloodletters and Crucia's talent for making a bargain sound more appealing than it should. He mulled it over quietly for a handful of seconds, and if the Lady Warden looked up at him from her drink, she would see a knowing smile on his pretty face, his eye closed.

"An interesting trade. A flattering one, at that." He lifted the cup to his lips once more, sipped silently, and placed it precisely on its plate. Without any ceremony or pomp, he looked to the Lady Warden, and in a calm voice, asked:

"Why not? It seems to be a generous enough bargain.".............................................................................................................................................................Castor paused, his hand on the back of his chair. He furrowed his eyebrows at Ash, but sunk into his chair all the same.

"You're a very curious woman, aren't you?" He half-grinned. How much of her question had been guesswork? He ran his eyes over her once more, looking for clues as to who she really was, behind the charming smile and intelligent gleam in her eyes.

He wasn't sure what he saw. Wasn't sure if he liked it or not. There was something, more pressing than simple curiosity, in the way that she spoke to him, carefully wrapping the facade of nonchalance about her words.

"Is there a reason you want to know?" Sometimes simple questions begot simple answers. He smiled as the barmaid returned with the mead, setting the drinks down before sashaying away. Castor was too interested in Ash at this point to notice the sway of the woman's hips. He punched a straw through the thick burst of foam that covered his drink. "We've only just met; I can't be sure you have good intentions, no matter how innocent-looking your pretty face may be."

Eyes narrowed but she smiled, briefly, at the woman. Gloria.Sly and knowing and amused. Like the words were dark flattery.

Much the same look was given to Castor, when he returned with words Ash soaked up like he was inflating her ego. Intentionally or not, that was the effect. Because she liked that- being curious. She liked interesting things, so how awful would it be to not be considered one herself? She smiled at him widely. A little too sharp-eyed to seem totally charmed or romantic. No, she just looked dangerously happy. Too smart, too perceptive. Analyzing him in between every syllable and breath.

When he met her intrusive wondering with something less than an outright warning, an order to leave, she looked absolutely thrilled. Wider eyes. Childlike, excited. There was no hiding any of it, then. She was interested, enthralled, and it was painfully clear as she straightened up more and shifted slightly in her chair.

Carefully, she leaned over the back of it more towards him.She spoke, just slightly more quiet. Not in hush or whisper, but softer. Less like someone telling a secret, and more a way easily assumed as flirtation from anyone nearby. She was careful, to seem like someone not worth eavesdropping on.

She didn't care about the barmaid, the drinks. Didn't even get mad over his word choice like she might have any other time, with any other person. Instead, she stayed vastly curious as to the who, the what, the how of him.

"Innocent and pretty.. two words you don't hear often, so what makes you think I'm fond of them?"One brow rose. Lips quirked. She was grinning but the look in her eyes was different, as if daring him to suggest maybe they weren't meant to be complimentary at all. Still, petty offenses hardly mattered in the face of something potentially fascinating. So she offered up the truth. A rare occurrence."I can't make any promises towards the good or bad of my intentions. I just like interesting things, is all. And a traveling noble with a guard from a foreign land, come to speak with someone official? Dragging in strangers of odd impression? That, my friend, is the most interesting thing I've seen in weeks. You can't blame me for being nosy, can you? After all, given all that, who wouldn't be?"

She watched him- and carefully was an understatement.Analyzing his face, his hands, through every word she spoke. Judging his expression and reaction to see if she'd gotten any guesses wrong, or maybe too right to be comfortable with. Anything and everything poor Castor did in that moment was helpful to her in figuring out what was going on. It was the best kind of gambling for her- she couldn't lose and he couldn't win, in her mind.

(There's a riddle in her head, being dragged out from under the broken debris:

A bird-of-prey in a woman's body,a warlock with a love for well-spiced tea,and a fallen governor with a madman's smilemeet in a musty room--

Duquesne would be proud.)

"It seems like a generous bargain indeed," Gloria offers Egris and Michta both, her burly hand clenching the side of the scarred table. "We are all pissing about with -- with talking, with contemplating, establishing plans. Strategies mean nothing if they're not executed. A woman's being held captive, and we're left meeting one another in smoky taverns over devilish pastries. And you might be surprised indeed," the hefty girl added, "how many people associate dark magics with porcelain teacups in this town."

Glenn cannot cease talking; he rambles on and on, always a few strides behind; Egris, for all her poise, might wait forever for someone else to strike against her -- and while it is a viable tactic in politics, it seems wasted here. And Michta, Michta--

"Do we know where the Bloodletters are?" asked the seamstress, an absent Inquisitor, a girl-playing-at-courage. "Do we know where they'd be holding Bern? Would it be the same place where they're keeping Jig?"

Always a step behind. It didn't used to be like that. He was a step ahead, or at least on the same page, to mix metaphors. Then he was ahead, always ahead, and all it had cost him was everything. Now, there was a laggard's joy of being behind, maybe. Had Myrken broken him? He functioned, but without aim or direction and, despite her comments otherwise, pure sentiment kept Egris from fully unleashing him on the world once more. There'd be a cost to that too.

Gloria's fingers tapped. "As nice as a heroic rescue might be, we're missing pieces here. I'm sick of pushing back against symptoms. Why do they want you? I may have bantered through a key point somewhere in the last hour, but to me, you are just a "certain" person, albeit with some power. They're moving pieces around on our board. That's maddening enough. You blink and they've snatched up someone else. You turn your head and cough and they've drawn another one in. Are they just trading up to gather the most interesting baubles? Myrken attracts them sometimes." There was a fire welling within him, but it was a slow building thing.

"Frankly, for tactical purposes, Gloria here is worth five of you, if they have a long game in Myrken. I know she doesn't look it but she's been at the center of so much and she knows just enough to hurt everyone in the province. She'd also likely put herself on the line to help a friend. Why have her put YOU on the line to help a friend instead? What's their endgame?"

The Lady made a rather rude snort of startled laughter at Michta's mention of demonic pastries. Her eyes danced merrily as she shot him an outwardly warning look. The quarrel did little to help matters, but she could see the humor behind his words. She attempted to push a boot delicately against his own foot in a show of amusement.

His sudden, blind acceptance of the bargain laid before them made the pretty Lady's eyes narrow. "What? Of course we can not simply hand you over," she sputtered as she glanced between all of those gathered. There was a subtle nudge of her chin forward that spoke of her well-known stubbornness.

Gloria's ill-tempered frustration at all of the discussion, at the waiting, made her heave a sigh. "The words may be tedious, but plans are necessary. No battle was won by poor planning, Gloria," she warned, her eyes dropping to the depths of her teacup in broodish manner.

Glenn's quiet words, confidence and poise held where there was often none, caught her attention. Her gaze smoldered with a quickly-disguised admiration. "Power. Control of Myrken. That's their end game. And Michta holds enough magical power to assist them in that. Do you not?," she asked, casting glance over to the elf, expression solemn.

"Enough to give them an advantage, I suppose. A seer's abilities should not be taken lightly, regardless of your personal feelings towards them." The latter was tossed casually, almost absentmindedly, into their midst, an arrow without any particular target. "They would certainly be an asset to Crucia's already noteworthy talents as an intelligencer. Imagine being able to watch your enemies plot from the comfort of your office and act accordingly."

He glanced sidelong at Gloria. "Coincidentally, I lack the power to summon storms or call forth terrible demons from the planes beyond, and I will be the first to admit that I have little mastery over the elements; I have never been one for barbaric displays of force, magical or otherwise. My powers lie in the realm of scrying, visions, and various cantrips of little consequence. Among them is the serving of tea, it would seem." He offered her a diplomatic smile that didn't quite reach his eye. "Should the Bloodletters manage to coerce me into cooperation, you will have very little to fear, as I still bleed, the same as you. I'm sure that I would make a very easy target, Miss Gloria."

He finished his tea, looking away from her as he tipped the delicate cup back, and set it quietly on the plate before him. He turned to Glenn, considering the man for a long moment. When he spoke, it was without the subtle flippancy that he addressed most with. His words seemed dampened with something bitter, darker.

"We are shaped by what we experience in life." he started, almost hesitantly. "Regardless of your origin, your accomplishments, the lives you complicate, we are all, each of us, nothing more than certain people. Our talents may lie in different areas, but if we are speaking from a strictly tactical stance, we are all expendable. Crucia knows this; she has already sacrificed two of her own, just to keep her whereabouts unknown. She has made it explicitly clear to each of you, in her own way, that she will enact her plans without fear of losing limbs in the process. Why do you think that is?"

He paused, seemingly for effect, but largely because he wanted each to draw a conclusion of their own. After a moment, he continued.

"She has reason to believe that she will succeed in Myrken, and so she considers the loss of a few of her comrades along the way a trivial matter. She is not intimidated by the Lady Warden's men. She remains undaunted by your spies. She has plucked a skilled bounty hunter from the streets on a whim, demonstrating that she is more than capable of replacing her assets. But there is a chink in her armor, so to speak."

He looked at Egris. "She is confident, perhaps even overly so. Her personal victories only serve to reinforce the illusion that she is elusive and untouchable. She uses it to her advantage, but that manner of thinking is a double-edged blade that we can turn on her. If you were to hand me over to her willingly, she will take it to mean that she has gotten her way, that the officials of Myrken are prepared to cooperate with her demands. I doubt that she would kill me; I am far more useful to her alive, even if she will have to break me in order to gain my assistance. In that way, I can use my abilities to provide you with her whereabouts, at least until she gains control of my magic."

He sat back, apparently unfazed by the prospect of being willingly subjected to torture. "Sir Glenn is correct. You cannot hope to defeat this beast by striking at its toes. You must sever the head with one blow, or you risk everything. I can assure you that if you do not kill Crucia when you have the chance, you will never have the same opportunity again."

A tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "If it means that we can finish this quickly and move on with our lives, then I would be more than happy to oblige her."

Glenn's off-kelter compliments bolstered her meager confidence, grew it from a seed into a sapling. Sitting here, at the table with these powerful presences -- one of the mind, one of the military, one of magic -- she felt powerful, an equal, and it strengthened her resolve. Egris promoted caution, Glenn sponsored an intensive strike to the heart of the matter, and Michta?

Michta willingly put himself on the slab. A bargaining chip.

And now, Gloria knew her role:

To say yes.

"If -- if this Crucia wants a collection of people, then adding you to her inventory of enchanted objects gives us an opportunity. I want," and she flicks her gaze toward Egris, a deference peppered by stalwart honesty, "to see Jig and Bern freed. We've shed blood before to -- to free the captured. Blood must be spilled; it's awful, it's ugly, it's far from ideal, and it's dangerous. No doubt I'll spill the least of theirs, but I'm willing to try. I scarcely have the mind or experience for strategy or negotiations, but I'll break bones if they present themselves to me."

Bold. Reckless. As she'd done before Golben, before the Storyteller, she ignores the foul truth: that killing, if one must, shreds away pieces of the soul, mutes innocence, and strangles humanity.

"I'll listen, I'll do as I'm told, and I'll obey direction -- in turn, all I ask is that when Michta discovers where these j'uk'ad hide themselves, we take the initiative, and we push."

"I'm disinclined towards seers." He really hadn't been paying attention; that's the conclusion he came to. He had no idea the powers involved here. "I'm disinclined towards magic to begin with, but especially seers. The future is what we make it. Period. You learn people and you can learn what they might do. You can learn from history. You can put it all together. There are odds, but Myrken chews up the best plans and shits them out, wet and toxic. I hate magic. I'm offended by seers." That was for Michta, pleasant. Welcome to Myrken and all that.

Onto Egris then, and his beloved bethrothed had rarely seen him so awoken. It'd been months, longer. "Power's not enough. They have power. They have soldiers. Why sacrifice one for a lateral gain. There's something else, something here that they want that they can't get anywhere else. We're playing a game with our cards all turned down until we know what that thing is." A nod back to Michta, as if he wasn't in the room. "Two or Ace or Joker? We don't know. He could be one of them. This could be a trap. It's probably a trap one way or another. She knows we'll probably try something, over-confident or no. She knows what his power is or else she wouldn't want it. It's not a hard leap to think we might try to use it, that he might try to use it to ensure his own freedom."

Then, to Gloria, looking her dead on. "I'm okay with that though. We walk into traps now and again. Sometimes we charge. He says she's overconfident. I believe him. People expect you to stumble in or they expect you to try to avoid it. Here, though, that's how we get the hair on the back of our neck to tingle. That's how we feel alive, by standing up, holding our head high, and walking into it. So," Finally, back to the seer, that crazed, brilliant twinkle in his eye. "lead on. We've got a powerful lady to spit in the face of." It didn't help things that he canted his head towards Egris one last time and said softly, for clarification's sake. "Not you, dear."

The woman's mouth curved into a displeased frown as the seer spoke; eloquently detailing his reasons for allowing Crucia to claim him as a prize. "Setting aside the very complicated fact that you are an innocent and ally, if not a citizen under my protection," she began, as she leaned back in her chair. Her arms crossed resolutely across her chest and her voice had a little underlay of steel. "Is it wise to hand her such a weapon?," she asked, glancing between the three others.

She sensed she was outnumbered. "What would Castor think of such a plan?" Perhaps he might even the odds a little more in her favor.

"Additionally, how do we know that Bern's mind has not been compromised already? How do we know that she will not be yet another pair of eyes in our council?," she asked, glancing towards Gloria. She neglected to bring up the other, the dancer. She thought Jig was a woman already lost, given her history with their new allies.

"I will attempt to overlook any doubts I might have about your ability to resist both physical and mental torture," she remarked, if a little sheepishly, as she skirted a glance over his slim frame. He did not make the most imposing figure in the world. "There may be another way," she mused, staring thoughtfully into the depths of her tea cup, cooling on the tabletop. "Torture is just a mental exercise to those who have studied its effects at length," she remarked, as casually as if she were discussing her daily schedule. There was no pride in her revelation of her past. It was a rather polite way to mention her training in such a violent skill set. She neglected to give details on whether she had given or received. "She may accept me in your stead."

That chin thrust forward, expecting a fair amount of arguments to the contrary.

Michta dipped his head in appreciation of Gloria's words. The animosity she had displayed towards him had been difficult to overcome, but the fact that she was willing to put aside her distaste for him in order to help them in their endeavor meant that he could regard her as an ally, not an obstacle. "Thank you, Miss Gloria. I am quite happy to know that I can count on your assistance."

Glenn's frank opinion brought an indulgent smile to his lips; the man's words had apparently flattered the half-elf. "My dearest Sir Glenn, you are hardly the first the first person that I have offended by merely existing, and if I am to have my way, I can assure you that you will certainly not be the last. I am pleased to know that you have a healthy appreciation for the dangers that magic present; it marks you as a very intelligent man. And you as well, Miss Gloria. While I hope that you both will continue to rely on yourselves rather than depending on the mystical predictions of others," he raised an eyebrow, still smiling, "I would ask that you not entirely disregard my abilities. You are correct in that nothing about the future is set in stone, but the fact remains that there are very real dangers that mere foresight cannot prevent, and I would rather you not be caught unawares. Merely a word of caution; you are free to believe what you will."

"As it is, I am not able to scry the Bloodletters' location. As I have already explained to both Lady Egris and Miss Gloria, Crucia's powers are like a spider's web in that she would be immediately alerted to the presence of my magic. Were she to sense it within her mind or those of her comrades, she would be able to follow the thread of energy back to its source, and she would know my location as well, effectively doing away with any element of surprise we might have had."

And then Egris spoke. About Castor. Michta sighed, his shoulders sagging ever-so-slightly.

"While I would prefer that Captain Montelle remain in the dark about my intentions, nothing is ever easy, and if one of you did not inform him of the plan, I have no doubt that his frustrating habit of being very good at finding things out would not fail him now. I would be slightly perturbed by all of this were he not technically under my command, and required to comply with any and all executive orders I give. I would rather not flaunt the powers vested in me by his majesty, but I will if absolutely necessary."

Egris continued, determined, and he listened patiently. "Put simply, Crucia is excellent at what she does, but she can only directly control those with magical abilities, of which I sense none from you, and I would assume this "Bern" character does not possess. In order for her to manipulate the average person in this way, she is required to thread a portion of her own magic into her victim over a period of days, giving her something inside of them to snare with her powers. Otherwise, she must resort to the more 'traditional' means of torture, which is hardly reassuring in most instances, considering her talent in that area, but in this case it would mean that the bounty hunter is, at most, injured. Not controlled."

He cocked his head in interest as she went on, eventually offering herself up in his place. He regarded her quietly. When he spoke, it was quietly, softly.

"Lady Warden, your bravery in the face of such danger is commendable, and it is exactly why the people of Myrken need you more than ever. I am nobody to the citizens of your town; if I am to die performing my task, they would remain unaffected. Not so, were it you in my place. They would be without a leader to protect them from the wolves that threaten to consume them whole."

He raised his hand to ward off any argument she might have ready to throw at him. His expression was calm and collected, the same that he had worn in her office upon meeting her the day before, the matter-of-fact blankness of the king of Mixalydia's advisor.

"A leader's duty is to their people, first and foremost. Sacrificing yourself when you are needed most would spell the end of Myrken as you know it. I offer myself up not out of obligation, but because it would provide you with a tactical advantage that you would not otherwise possess. Even if Crucia's methods of torture did not have the desired effect upon you, she would kill you without a second thought if she had the chance, and that is to be avoided at all costs. I would advise you to send others to fight in your place, but because I know you would dismiss such a notion without even considering it, I will not waste anyone's time by proposing it. But I will insist on this, at least. You are responsible for the men, women, and children of Myrkentown, and you cannot afford unnecessary risks."

If his words had caused offense, it went ignored by the half-elf, who was typically more diplomatic in such situations. He briskly moved on to the next order of business. "You should have your men at the ready, but have them outwardly behave as they have been so far. Crucia is observant, and we don't want her to catch wind of our intentions. I will instruct the Hidden Hand to do the same."

"Bern and I share--" a pause, returning Egris's glance, enough time for a breath that carried an unspoken lodestone, "--common experiences. If she's compromised, I should be able to determine so rather quickly."

How, she did not say, but the girl examined the abused hem of her skirt with renewed focus.

"I care most that -- that we exhaust every option possible for Jig and Bern in the event that their thoughts have been altered. And," the girl added, "that we preserve ourselves with equal care. We -- we ought to be as meticulous as possible." Dull, Sun-bleached eyes flick to all of them each one of them in turn. "If any of us are hurt too greatly, if our minds come to be too touched by them, we abandon the matter and regroup for -- for better alternatives. The Bloodletters can -- can bleed all they must; our aim should be to not."

(What use will you be, Glour'eya? You're a girl juggling courage; you're a kitten among panthers. Why are you even here?)

"I know in this case, I am a liability to -- to all of you. I've no familiarity with a sword, scarcely any comfort with a knife, and not even a measure of talent otherwise.

Gloria may have been juggling courage but Burnie wished she had been juggling sense, or perhaps throwing it around at people.

As for poor Egris, there was a fine line between admiration and complete frustration. She was likely about to straddle it and tumble over. She had spent months getting closer to Burnie and perhaps one month drifting away but she had never quite seen him like this. That twinkle of madness or genius in his eyes had settled into intensity. "No. She takes this ass and she has some sense of the future," said with immense distaste. "That helps her achieve her ends. She gets you, loops that magic in or whatever, and she wins immediately, because of the power you have here. I don't think your soldiers will be more inclined to listen to me than to you just because I say you've been magically compromised. Otherwise, I might have said that six months ago."

He turned upon Michta, advancing a few steps. "I don't like the board as it is. She holds the cards," which was a lovely mixed metaphor. "So we're going to change the game. What I need to know is this: influencing those with magic. That makes sense. It's a hell of a trick. It might point to her endgame." Myrken had a few very nice baubles after all, some of the most deadly beings he could imagine, both alive and dead and waiting to be reborn. "I know she has a mental link with those she's influenced now. Can she read their minds? Does she inspire their loyalty or just their obedience? In frank, if you go over to her, will you blurt out our plan?"

It would have made so much sense to wait after that point, but this was building within him and he simply couldn't. "Here's the plan, Egris. We shake the board. We do the trade but not until we've brought in our own player. Niall (she's still alive right?)," that last bit almost an after thought because he had been so out of touch. "She has the ability to do two things. The first is that she'll be able to make a few modifications, a tattoo, taking some blood, benign things, to Michta. This way she could track him, could probably make him forget the plan." It'd just be another painful tattoo. Ah well. "Moreover, she can ward herself against such magic so long as she sees it in action. She once warded herself with a new tattoo or some such against a fairly powerful drug that someone was slipping into Myrken's supply of her favorite beverage in order to make her less of a public nuisance." And that he was able to say that so guiltlessly was quite a feat. "Have you met her? We give him over. We keep the means to track him, and we ideally have her come up with a way to ward herself and others. Then we'll have a fighting chance here."

It was a dangerous plan certainly, one that hinged on Michta not leading them into a trap to begin with (for he could have already been Crucia's for all they knew), on finding Niall, on getting through the handoff without Niall being taken as well, or without, for instance, Egris being taken. "We all go to the hand off, Gloria, with a weapon as she offered, Niall with one as well. Ideally she'd just look like another member of the honor guard."

Her Ladyship cast a disapproving glance towards Glenn at his insistence in calling names. Another, more apologetic, glance for Michta. Glenn had never been tolerant, as far as she understood, for any visiting dignitaries.

There was an understanding, though disappointed nod at Michta's revelations about his inability to scry the location of Crucia and her people. It made some sense. "We'll not keep Castor in the dark about your intentions," she insisted, as if it were not up for debate. "I trust that he will soon join us so that we might go over the matters we've discussed. Whatever his role in your partnership, I suspect that he is a man who will follow orders, but also speak his mind about what an idiot you are being. The very kind of man who you should trust at your back," she continued, her gaze seeking his own, pointedly. Clearly, his words had not spawned any confidence in the current plan. "If my own protests are not given adequate weight."

Gloria spoke up in the wake of his assurances that Bern was unlikely to have been altered in any way. There was a lingering curiosity in her gaze, the details of Gloria's offer unknown. She would let the matter lie.

Agitated, the woman rose - her chair legs scraping against the floor in her rush to get to her feet. She paced slowly, hands clasped at the small of her back. The repetitive action soothed her. She pulled a face at his reminder of her own importance, but did not argue otherwise. As a leader, it was far easier to put herself in danger than those under her command. She had practice at it, but it was never something that weighed easily on her conscious.

Glenn made her pause in her forward momentum. She half-turned towards him, her glance sidelong as he outlined his additions to Michta's scheme, her features abruptly mystified.

She managed to catch herself; to let her usual mask of indifference she oft employed with him to settle upon her features. She cleared her throat and set her boots to the floorboards again. "She is one of mine, actually," she mentioned, in slightly superior manner.

"It is not an altogether terrible idea." The very best she could do for a compliment. For him.